Robin Goodgirl

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"It's the perfect disguise, no one will ever think of looking for you dressed as a girl."

Robin Goodgirl
by Lainie Lee


This is the number one, most read short story on Classic BigCloset and once held that position on Fictionmania, and yet it never got even one comment in over 7000 reads at BC. Odd, huh? -Erin

When my aunt, my Dad's half-sister, met me at the gate of Camp Pinewood I knew something had gone terribly wrong. I had never seen Aunt Dorothy before but I recognized her immediately. She had Dad's high forehead and wide-set gray eyes, just like my own. Her dark blond hair fell to her shoulders, bare to the early August sun. Her periwinkle blue shirtwaist dress nipped in effectively below a pair of prominently displayed breasts, the top two buttons not being fastened. Her hips flared the loose skirt nicely and tan, tapering legs ended in pumps that matched her dress and the rather large leather bag she carried. Smiling, she called my name again, "Robin! Robin, over here!"

She didn't look like a lesbian.

Behind my aunt a large, golden Cadillac crouched on the crushed gravel of the camp parking lot amidst the litter of lesser cars like a lioness among fat, neutered alley cats. The woman standing beside the driver's door could best be described as striking. Over six feet tall in her heels, Naomi Wynne had short red hair, an angular face, deep-set blue eyes and arms that seemed larger and more muscular than my own legs. Her smallish breasts made round shapes beneath her sleeveless aqua jersey dress. Her waist cinched in by a wide cinnamon belt made her figure seem more feminine. Slender hips, long, tawny legs and cinnamon, 3" high-heel pumps that were probably being ruined by the gravel completed her look; the look of a very successful, wealthy lesbian.

I would not have looked at Aunt Dorothy long enough to recognize her as a relative if she had not called my name. At eighteen, full of raging hormones, I did not look long at beautiful blondes for fear of staring. Small and slight, barely five feet three inches tall and not more than 90 pounds, I felt all full of gawky, awkward insecurities and doubts. My own dark blond hair, shaggy now after six weeks without a haircut seemed constantly in rebellion. Puberty had finally arrived for me and my face threatened mutiny with pimple militia mustering just under the skin.

Sometimes I hated myself but just then I felt afraid. Why weren't my parents here to pick me up, what had happened to them? They had been traveling in the Middle East, Egypt, Israel....

"Robin, honey," Aunt Dorothy called again. "You'll have to come here, we can't walk on this stuff in these shoes." She waved encouragement at me and Naomi grimaced.

I trudged across the fifty feet of gravel, dreading what I might hear. As I got closer I realized my aunt's mascara had left dark runnels on her cheeks and I began to cry. I hurled myself the last few feet against the aunt I hardly knew, weeping my fears uncontrollably.

Through the storm of emotion, I heard her whisper, "There, there, honey. They're not dead, honey. At least, they're not dead."

Relieved and astonished, I pushed myself back to look up at her. "Th-they're not?"

"No, honey. We can't talk here, get in the car."

After putting my stuff in the trunk, Naomi held the door for me and I slid into the seat behind the driver. We were soon on Highway 330 to San Bernardino and then I-10 to LA.

On the trip, Aunt Dorothy told me that Dad had been captured by terrorists in Beirut and that Mom had gone into hiding in Europe since the terrorists wanted to capture her to use as leverage on him.

"They might want to kidnap you or your Aunt Dolly," Naomi amplified.

"But why?" I protested through tears. Dolly comforted me, holding my head to her ample bosom. On one level, I enjoyed this while terrified as to the fate of my parents.

Then Dorothy and Naomi told me about my parents secret life as spies for a militant Jewish-American anti-terrorist group called Never Another Holocaust. The initials tortured a giggle from me. My parents, agents of NAH?

They told me their plan, we would go into hiding also. At a secluded house in Ventura County, and we would also be disguised. Aunt Dorothy would become a brunette, Dolly Goode; and Naomi would disguise herself also, though no one should be looking for her. Naomi would finance this from her investment income made in the new field of biotechnology; she was willing to do this because she loved Aunt Dot, she said.

"What about me?" I asked.

Aunt Dorothy patted my hand comfortingly, "We have something worked out for you, dear."

* * *

I began wearing girl's clothing as soon as we reached the house. They had purchased a wardrobe for me. Mostly pretty party dresses and dress-up clothes.

I protested vehemently but to no avail. "I can't wear these clothes!"

"Of course you can, besides they are the only clothes we have provided for you. You can't go around naked now can you?"

"I won't wear these girl's clothes!" I said, appalled and frightened. They were adamant. "It's for your protection, dear," insisted Dot/Dolly. "It's the perfect disguise, no one will ever think of looking for you dressed as a girl."

Finally, I relented. I had no other choice, I would wear dresses and learn to be a proper young girl. They assured me that it would probably all be over before summer ended and my college semester started.

The cover story was that I was Dolly's 19-year-old daughter Robinette. Naomi became Dolly's husband, Norman, and supposedly my stepfather. Her disguise was almost more astonishing than my own.

With her breasts bound down and dressed loosely in male clothing she looked every bit like a suburban Dad. The house we moved into even had a garage full of tools. "Stay out of the garage," Naomi/Norman warned me. "A shop is no place for a girl, you'll get your pretty clothes snagged on something or smeared with grease." My new "stepdad" was very handy with tools, she could make anything out of wood or leather, rubber or metal.

I doubted that I could pass as a fourteen-year-old girl but my transformation surprised me again. First my aunt gave me a definitely feminine if rather short cut. She gave me a wig to wear until my hair grew out, a waist-length cascade of honey-blonde curls. The weight and feel of the wig seemed strange at first but soon I felt naked without it.

Makeup did wonders for my angular features and the uneven texture of my skin. Padding at bust and hips gave my skinny body a feminine shape. I wore little school dresses in pinks and whites and lavender many of them with lace at cuffs and around my neck. Some of the dresses may have been recreations from the fifties or even earlier, they had a classic look.

Almost immediately they started my hormone treatment. At first I didn't know what was happening as my emotions began to behave like a roller coaster, constantly up and down with fits of giggles and bouts of tears. But soon physical changes began happening to my body. I tried to ask Dot and Naomi about this but they put me off.

Aunt Dot assured me, "Such things are perfectly normal in a boy who iss dressing as a girl. Your body is just adjusting to your new role in life." I wasn't that naive but I didn't have the nerve to press the issue against the adult confidence my aunt and her cross-dressed lover.

Over the next two years I watched the transformation in my appearance with fear and wonder and a growing, guilty joy. My skin cleared up and the boniness of my face and form seemed to soften. In less than two months, breast buds made little points of tenderness on my chest. My ass became rounder and more fleshy. Day to day, the changes seemed unnoticeable but week to week they added up. By Easter, I wore a B-cup and no one would mistake my shape for a boy's. My breasts were still pear-shaped which Aunt Dorothy said meant they were still growing. "We hope they will get to be a full C-cup," she said. "But if not, that is all right because we will have implants put in eventually, anyway."

"How big are you going to make them?" I asked fearing my own reaction to her answer. I've since stopped asking her that because she keeps increasing the suggested size and I cannot imagine what I would look like with double-J-cups, let alone triple-M or OOOO. I have reached a C-cup after three years of hormones and my breasts seem to be a matter of pride to all of us.

The constant female hormones had their effect on my genitals also, my underdeveloped penis became even smaller and the testicles shrank and became so soft as to seem to have vanished. The morning hard-on I had become accustomed to also disappeared, in fact, by Christmas of that first year I could no longer get hard at all. The friction I had used to jerk-off now produced a warm feeling all over with hot points at groin and nipples, lips and earlobes. It takes longer to achieve release but when it comes it fills me and carries me outside myself and seems to last for minutes, less an explosion and more of a cataract of passion.

I had never been strong but now even ordinary doors seemed heavy and awkward. Naomi/Norman encouraged me in my weakness, not allowing me to lift or carry even so much as a loaded plate of food onto the patio of their beautiful home. Eventually, I became proud of my enervation and the fact that my grip is not sufficient even to lift a small glass of water to my lips in one hand.

At first I had chores to do around the house, girl-type chores. Like helping with cooking meals and cleaning the house and Dot began to teach me to sew. But as time went on, I was relieved of my duties. "Your job is to look pretty," Dot/Dolly would tell me when I tried to help. My increasing weakness seemed to please my kindly captors and sometimes I feigned being too weak for a chore I did not want to do anymore. Such behavior was rewarded by having that chore removed from my list of duties, permanently until it remained that my sole obligation in the household was to "look pretty."

I do look pretty in my lacy dresses and hair bows and clinky jewelry and high fashion shoes. Sometimes Dolly poses me in front of a mirror and makes me just look at myself for hours. The girl in the mirror is always smiling and trying not to do any ugly thing and I know that she is really me.

Along with changes caused by the hormones were other physical changes. My aunt/mother bleached and curled my hair as it grew out and taught me to take care of it at first but eventually she seemed to prefer to do all of that herself. I am like her living Barbie doll for she always chooses my clothes and dresses me as well as doing my hair and makeup.

Acrylic nail extensions gave me long, elegant nails while mine grew out to length. The two-inch long nails made it difficult to do many things but Aunt Dorothy/Mom said I would have to get used to it as I would never again wear them any shorter. If I complained that I could not do something specific because of my long nails or my weakness or the way I was dressed then I was forbidden ever to do that thing again.

"I can't put on my eye makeup with nails longer than the applicator," I once pouted. After that Dot took over doing my eyes for me.

Dot promised a spanking every time I broke a nail, adding an extra swat each time. The first week, I got four spankings and one or two per week after that for awhile. Later, she changed the rules; when I got up to 21 swats, she decided that I could not have my weekly spanking if I broke any nails. I haven't broken any nails in over a year.

Needless to say the growth of the nails were part of the reason I no longer help with the cooking or cleaning nor even dress or bathe myself anymore. My nails are kept at about five inches long and elegantly painted twice a week, pink or rose, fuchsia or lavender, red or cinnamon; usually to match my lips. .

Aunt Dorothy said that I must wear high heels, four-inch or more, all the time. I had pairs of boots to wear to bed and even waterproof high-heel sandals for the bath. Many of these rigidly supported my ankles and I fear that those became my favorites. Within a month or so, I could not walk without high heels but neither could I walk very far in them. I had nowhere to go in any case for fear of the terrorists kept all of us near home to begin with and later, well leaving the house was just unthinkable. Even standing became difficult as my strength faded though I am seldom allowed to sit as most of my clothing does not permit bending that way. Little supports Naomi has built into walls and furniture help me to stand without much effort, though when I am fastened to the supports I cannot move until I am released.

Naomi used her electrolysis machine to remove my eyebrows and unwanted underarm, leg and pubic hairs as well as the stray facial and chest hairs I had from my eighteen years as a boy. That should have hurt but a few of Naomi's pills and I could still feel the pain but I no longer cared. Naomi seemed to enjoy these sessions and after the first few, so did I. The drugs changed my perception of the pain, almost it became pleasure. Naomi said the electrolysis would never end completely because new hairs sprout now and again but we were down to half-hour sessions once per week. She spends much of the time on Monday mornings just caressing my body, searching for the tiny bristles. I love this.

The tattoo sessions went similarly as Naomi applied permanent lip and eye liner. She drew my eyes wider, the corners a half-inch beyond their natural dimensions with black eyeliner along both upper and lower lids. Delicate dots and lines curving away from the eyeliner simulated mascara. My lips she also drew much fuller, a perpetual pout. Later she filled in my brows, lips, eyebrows and eyelids with tattooed color. A bright, true red for my lips, with greens and violets for my eyes. She also tattooed peachy blush onto my cheeks after a dentist had removed all of my molars. Enormous eyes, full sensual lips, arching brows and hollow cheeks are all permanent, needing only a little makeup to perfect them.

The corsets I began wearing the second week cinched my waist in to about twenty-one inches at first. I had several, with lambs' wool corset liners and lovely silken corset covers in with pink and lavender lace. I wear my pretty corsets at least fourteen hours per day and continuously Fridays and Saturdays. Constant wearing of the corsets with a strictly controlled diet has reduced my waist to less than eighteen inches and Naomi says, after my lower ribs are removed, I will have a fourteen-inch waist.

At first, I felt hungry all the time and I would try to steal food. But Naomi made several masks for me with mouthpieces so I could not feed myself when she had locked one of them in place. The masks were never removed until Naomi had tied my hands behind me or fastened them to loops on my belt or to a chair or other piece of furniture. Then Dot would feed me, only just a few spoonfuls at a time then back in the mask. Some of the masks did not have eye holes and Dot or Naomi would have to lead me around but all of the masks are beautiful like the faces of fairytale princesses painted on rubber or metal. Lately, if I ask nicely, Dot will let me wear one of the masks for a few hours. Yesterday, she made me beg.

I never get fed if I say I am hungry. I have to pretend it doesn't matter while they are eating then I will have a few bites spooned into my mouth or be allowed a few sips of some thick liquid.

It is a good thing, I guess, that I am not fed much as I am not allowed to ask to go to the bathroom. I couldn't without help anyway since Naomi has built various rubber butt plugs with which she fills my asshole. At first these devices were quite small, no larger than my pinkie, but the one inside me now, well it is bigger than my delicate wrist, perhaps larger than my fist, if I could still make a fist. It is quite painful when it is removed or replaced although I am no longer quite sure of just what pain is supposed to be.

My ears have been pierced, not just the lobes but the upper part also. I wear enormous seven-inch hoops through the lobes and smaller four-inch and one- and-three-quarter-inch hoops as well. Little sliding bells on the circular hoops jingle when I walk and they jangle against each other. The upper piercings are a variety of jeweled studs and tiny rings. A half-inch ring through my tongue tip has a golden ball that sits atop my tongue. Talking is difficult and eating would be also except that all of my meals are liquid since I have no chewing teeth. Recently, Naomi used tools to anneal all of these rings so there are no openings and they can no longer be removed.

Another ring through the head of my penis also goes through the base of my scrotum, keeping my inelegant member back and down. This last piercing needs much care and cleaning which I am not allowed to do. Aunt Dot does most of this care and cleaning and is very solicitous and careful of my tender parts especially since the annealing Naomi did to make the ring permanent. A short chain connects this ring with a clip to my butt plug when it is in place and Dot is fond of tugging on the chain when she does the cleaning down there.

Because of the hormones, I cannot get an erection but the handling is pleasant and sometimes a fluid leaks out and stains my pretty panties even when no one is touching me there and I am fully dressed and it has been hours since anything has happened and I am just standing somewhere fastened by my restraints to the wall or the furniture and thinking about being touched. I know I will get punished for staining my pretty things but thinking about getting punished is almost certain to cause me to have one of my little accidents as Aunt Dot calls them.

"Oh, dear," she will say. "Robin has been a bad girl and made a little stain on her panties again." She strips most of my clothing off then, except my corset and boots and makes me lie on the bed.

Then Naomi locks my hands into leather mittens that are chained to the headboard. Padded cuffs just below my knees are chained to the side of the bed where I cannot squeeze my thighs together. Not being allowed to touch myself after Aunt Dot has teased and stroked me nearly to climax causes me to whimper through the gag of the blindfolding mask Naomi has locked onto me. The passion grows as I struggle because I know that someone will at last return to bring me to climax except that sometimes no one does. Then I must lie quietly, exhausted, pretending to sleep or sleeping or dreaming that I am pretending.

Sometimes, they chain me by the jeweled collar I wear to the wall on a short lead. I may not sit, but must stand for hours in my six-inch high-heeled boots. The drugs I am given make this torture bearable but my whimpers and cries are so pitiable that Naomi and Dolly must often shut the door to my room so they can go about their day and ignore my suffering. After these times I am always grateful to be fastened again to the supports Naomi has provided in various places but I know I will soon transgress some rule and so find my reason for some sweet punishment.

Many times I protested this transformation but my aunt and her Lesbian lover kept me drugged and docile, unable to physically resist or run away. I knew what was happening but I could do nothing to stop it and after awhile I knew that my protestations had been, or at least, had become sham. Still, I continue to make them, vainly but with heat I do not have to pretend to. There is something wrong with an aunt transforming her half-brother's son into what I have become. The guilt and shame I feel in my own pleasure in the process are themselves part of the pleasure and my protests part of the game.

For I know it is a game now. We are not in hiding from terrorists but from my parents. Naomi and Dolly have admitted as much to me. They fell in love with me and they uprooted all of our lives for the love of me and what they wanted to make of me. Naomi hates men and Dolly fears them; they wanted to take a man, or really a boy for that is what I was at only eighteen, and make him into a perfect Lesbian love slave. They dreamed up the terrorist story to get me to go along with the charade in the beginning.

I was devastated when I learned the truth. These months, now more than three years that I have sacrificed my manhood to an illusionary safety. Or did I?

"It's for the best, Robin," Aunt Dot said. "You have made a good girl where as a boy you were a pitiful, weak, failure. Look how easy we talked you into our scheme."

I had to admit that she was right. The boy Robin was hardly anything that a person could be proud of but as Robinette I was a beautiful and desired object of my captor's lust, the image of desire.

When the surgery is done later this year, removing my lower ribs and enlarging my breasts and buttocks with implants, Dolly and Naomi have promised to remove the last vestige of my masculinity and have the surgeon build me a vagina, if I have been a good girl. Hope and fear mingle in me to such a degree as to make my skin tingle and my lips and nipples ache to be stroked, to be touched. To be loved.

Dare I be good? For if I am to become a girl, completely, totally, at last, this tortuous transformation will be over. What will be my reason for living then?



Copyright 1998, 1999, 2002 by Elaine Blankenship
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Comments

No comment in 12 years ...

and it's described as 'one of the most read FM stories'.
I read to the end hoping it wasn't as simplistic and brutal as abusive as it first appeared. Oh well, my mistake.
The title is enticing …. Robin and GoodGirl but the actual story, motivation and outcome - not.
AP

Compelled to comment

I've read the debate surrounding this story with much interest and can appreciate both points of view. To be honest, it's not as horrific as some tales i've read....that honour must surely go to "Everlasting Femininity" by Patricia Hood. Both of these pieces of fiction left me disturbed only because I did actually enjoy them both despite their extremely dark nature.

So, it's the old adage - one man's meat is another man's poison.

Anyway, I enjoyed it........so there!

good story

it was a very well writen story and i loved it

I wanted to read this one

because I have heard a hint that Robin may not be a slave forever. I dont want to spoil it for everyone though.

DogSig.png

Not my thing either

Not my cup of tea or swamp water either. It really represents the
worst of T-fiction - all description but absolutely no motivation
on the part of the characters. The little bit of motivation that
is there is tantamount to rape and child abuse.

I think this story is finally getting the comments it deserves
instead of people holding their noses and being too polite
to leave a comment.

Kim

i liked this story

sometimes i like to read stories that harsh my mellow... and boy does this go there.
it reminiscent of a fantasy of mine if you take out all the pain.
mellow well harshed
ed


ed

It seems to rushed...

...there is no spin up to the action in the story.

For instance... Standing at the front of the school the child says 'she doesn't look like a lesbian'. Nothing in the story ever yet made that suggestion. It seemed out of sync.

This story seems like a story board rather than a completed work. See the things these women do though they are hideous don't jiggle my anger chain. It would if there was any realism to it. If there was I would be fuming over it but I'm not because I have not been made to think it was real.

OH wow

YAY another horror story writer mew ^^ I love it when I see more horror stories, yes it might be odd that I love horror stories when I'm such a bubbly cat girl mew, but I do. My muse is very pleased with your story, yet I myself hope that Stark can do something about it to mew. Though honestly... is there any saving for that child? I don't know... I hope so. My muse just laughs at the torture of it though... she thinks it's funny >>

 

    I just got to be me :D

 

I know who I am, I am me, and I like me ^^
Transgender, Gamer, Little, Princess, Therian and proud :D

good or bad... I wish...

..I wish my stories provoked so much debate...... Your writing has its controversies but there's nothing wrong with that - me? I'm a sweet & sentimental girl too but it's free country (US or UK, both are!) Love Ginger x

Ah yes

erin's picture

That explains why it is the most read story on two websites. :)

- Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Very perceptive

erin's picture

On another site Lainie mentions that she wrote the first scene and the outline and lost interest in finishing the story. Someone talked her into posting what she had and for a long time, it was the most popular story here and briefly was popular on FM, despite being severely lacking in many things a real story needs. Her original idea was to hit as many categories as possible in the FM category system.

The bit about not looking like a lesbian was just a bit of sideways humor. :)

- Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

My experiment

My experiment at writing what was a typical FM story at the time. The end is rushed because the characters were creeping me out. I kept wanting to make it funny but it kept being as serious as herpes. It has had a lot of reads on three different sites but I don't really consider the experiment a success.

Love,
Lainie

-sheep- I did not comment on

-sheep- I did not comment on the old as I did not read it but... -wrinkles his nose- This sort of tale just leaves me queasy, unsettled.

-r

-a

Even odder

erin's picture

Three comments saying it is not their kind of story, that's like negative comments. :) SOMEONE likes this story, why didn't THEY comment before or since? No story gets a count like that on Classic BC unless it is being reloaded, a lot. Those are mostly re-reads as one of the comments on FM indicated.

This story obviously hit a lot of buttons for some people; for others, it was a turn-off.

- Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Sorry Erin

Sorry Erin but I have to agree. It's not that I don't like Lainie's work (Hey, I loved "Spellbound in the Seventies" - finish it any time!!) But generally I'm more a sweet and sentimental romantic and this story sure isn't.

The Question

erin's picture

Still, why haven't the people who DO like this story commented? That was what I thought was curious. It's even more curious that so many people don't like this sort of story and yet this was the most read short story on C-BC. Lots of silent readers out there. :)

- Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Aha! Marketing does work!

Your comment on 'the most read story' was enough. Now I remember why I didn't comment the first time.

Well written but the subject matter was not to my taste.

Well, yeah!

erin's picture

Lol. Boy, could any story be less to your taste?

- Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

"Horror Story" or "Living up to its POEtential"

Jezzi Stewart's picture

Why do many people read and no one coments (Til a specific hint like Erin's) ?? I think there is a fascination to this story along the lines of a mongoose being mesmerized by a cobra. The mongoose doesn't like it but can't look away. After reading, one is so disgusted with the depavity and abuse in this story that he/she is ashamed of having read, devouered, it, and so doesn't leave a comment. This is, plain and simple, a horror story, along the lines of Poe's "The cask of Amantilado" with sadistic, selfish "love" substituted for hate and the physical disfigurement substituting for bricks, so similar, even to the chaining to the wall, that I wonder if COA was the inspiration for it.
Jezzi
BTW - If the whole terrorist thing was a hoax, what about his parents?

All the world really is a stage, darlings, so strut your stuff, have fun, and give the public a good show!" Miss Jezzi Belle at the end of each show

BE a lady!

Sorry Jezzi

erin's picture

That may be true for people who don't like the story. But there are comments on it at FM, and both commenters did like the story. And no story that had that effect on people would haveb so many reloads and rereads.

Once again, I wasn't asking for people who don't like the story to comment, :) I was wondering why so many people who do like the story DON'T comment more.

- Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Not twisting arms...

erin's picture

...again, I'm not asking people who DIDN'T like the story to comment.

I wondered why so popular a story doesn't have comments from people who DID like it. Not the same thing at all.

- Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

But ...

Jezzi Stewart's picture

...that's the point (My mongoose example was not the best.) Readers who make it to the end of a story like "Robin Goodgirl" must like the story, or they would have quit reading it, but because of the subject matter they may feel guilty because they liked it, so don't leave a comment; this may be on a subconscious level, so it's not even realized. Part of reading or watching a good horror story or movie of this type is that a little primal part of us identifies with the villian and that's at war with our civilized conditioning. Most people, I would wager, have at one time or another met someone that their primal selves would like to wall up alive as the protagonist in "The Cask of Amontilado" did, but their civilized selves also are properly horrified that a part of them would want to do so, particularly if the civilized selves realize that the person to whom they would like to do this really does not deserve it, as is the case in both RG and CofA.

"All the world really is a stage, darlings, so strut your stuff, have fun, and give the public a good show!" Miss Jezzi Belle at the end of each show

BE a lady!

And...

erin's picture

I think you mayb be right. :)

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

BTW ...

Jezzi Stewart's picture

I think that this, sort of in reverse, is why the 18th Amendment, prohibition, was passed and why it failed. Many people who really enjoyed alchoholic beverages and didn't want the amendment to pass felt quilty because they felt that way or wanted others to think they were "good people" and so they supported the amendment anyway . When it, and the Volstead Act to enforce it, were passed, most of those people went with their real feelings and disobeyed it.

"All the world really is a stage, darlings, so strut your stuff, have fun, and give the public a good show!" Miss Jezzi Belle at the end of each show

BE a lady!

So Prohibition came about...

erin's picture

...because too many American men wanted to be forced to wear dresses? :) Interesting theory.

- Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

the story is very very sad. o

the story is very very sad. one wonders what kept the boy alive those years without loosing hope and ending with a suicide.

but however. the story was good

Different but good

I liked the story because it is different. It is dark in nature. Right now there seems to be alot of "mild feel good" stories being written. Reading a story like this is like enjoying a spicy Thai dish after only being able to eat plain hamburger and mashed potatos for a long time. Change is good. Variety is good. Difference is also good.

I enoyed the read, I think

I enoyed the read, I think a part two would be nice a reunion with Rpbins parents and his aunt and her lover stand trial. It would be nice to see what you do with this story

Jill Micayla
May you have a wonderful today and a better tomorrow

Jill Micayla
Be kinder than necessary,Because everyone you meet
Is fighting some kind of battle.

Queasy is an understatement

This is a very disturbing story. I like the G rated cutesy stories, and this definitely isn’t one. However, it is pretty well written with good flow and meter.

Robi

*HUGS*
Robi

Stories like this ...

... inspired me to write the Stark series. In fact, this story in particular was one of the ones that made my blood boil enough to put fingers to keyboard and create Stark. In fictional worlds where injustice and cruelty win, there must be a place for someone equally cruel to bring justice ... or vengeance ... down on those who would play with human lives for their own ends.

Some of what Stark does makes my skin crawl, too. But I know what drives her, and those she punishes are certainly worthy of their fates. Part of me wants Stark to rescue Robin -- but is there anything left of Robin to rescue?

Maybe there's a story in that, too.

Randalynn

"I am not a number. I am a FREE MAN!"
-- Number Six, The Prisoner

Robin Goodgirl and Stark

I have only once been able to get through this story in one read and then it was a bit of a skim. It's too intense but well written.

How the Aunt can say how she and her lover were hurt by and/or hate men for various resaons then turn around and subject an inocent to the worst sorts of violations, Arrrg! Its a bit like Deception of Choice, an much longer, well writen, and equally disturbing piece.

This is much like the horror stories where awfull things happen to random victims for no logical reason. Then for the Aunt to imply he's better off. Stark,911! Randalynn, I think you're right, you do have a future subject for a Stark story here.

I'm torn on powerfully disurbing stories or intensly loving ones for that matter, do a quality sequal to tie up the loose ends or let it as is as it may have a bigger impact staying incomplete? About the only thing they haven't done is completely distroy his sense of person, though damn near everything else is gone.

I think people were reluctant to comment because it is so intense. Mind you this is nothing compared to the horrors of war and real life villians but its close enough.

I'm heading to the sweetest piece of litterary fluff I can think of as an antidote.

John in Wawatosa

John in Wauwatosa

Why all the reads? "Its the story Title BABY"

I think its the title of the story. I just read through all the comments after I made the frist. I've come to the conclusion that nobody liked the story! So it leaves me to believe thet its the TITLE that hooked them into reading it!

"We" are not amused!

So, as it is written

So, it Shall Be Done!!
(Yul Bryner)

Konichiwa

Annoying is my qualification

To many horrific gender specific crimes in one story. Of course many rereads, you can't believe in the first read that a mental healty person has combined so many horrible crimes in such a short story.
My first impression was: a deliberate hoax to provoke a reaction

Erin, you asked for it (giggle, why did you annimate this old discussion so closely around april 1)

Astrid

Horse before the Cart

I read the comments here first, without having read the story. So many comments. So many distinguished commentators. Such a mystery.

And then John in Wawatosa said it was a bit like my DofC.

So I felt I must read it! A treat in store.

I don't like it either. It isn't really a story, just a bald description of a physical process. Without characters or point.

Even the dark and disturbing should have those. Especially the dark and disturbing.(And is dark and distubing now on the way to becoming a pejorative description? - To ramble down a different avenue)

People presumably are attracted to the title or description. They can't know what a short story is going to be like in advance, unless the author is already known to them surely? And what does the reading figure really mean? Has one to scroll to the end before it registers or is a quick glance enough?

Or are visitors lured into being a statistic, their curiosity aroused by the simple question about the lack of comments?

Or.... Or did Erin get the date wrong? Was it supposed to be posted on the 1st. April?

Fleurie

Fleurie

A valid point, Fleurie

Hit counters don't see if you've actually READ what you visited. It's not the number of readers, just the number of hits. So how many came for the title and the "disguised as a girl" description, only to wind up leaving halfway through, sickened and appaled at the depths these two would sink to?

That could be the reason why no one commented for over 7000 "reads" -- maybe they were driven off before finishing the story, and the tendency of the human mind to try and block out severly unpleasant or painful experiences led those who had read it to try and erase it from their memories.

After all, it IS a nightmare waiting to happen.

Randalynn

"Socially, a journalist stands somewhere between a whore
and a bartender. But spiritually, he stands beside Galileo.
He knows the world is round."
--Sherman Reilly Duffy, Chicago Daily Journal

"Socially, I fit in just fine between the whore and the bartender --
both are close friends. And I knew the world was round.
But then I discovered flat, and that there are things dark
and terrible waiting just over the edge to reach out and snatch life
from the unlucky wanderer."
-- Carl Kolchak, Las Vegas Daily News

Nobody Doesn't Like

It would be more than a stretch to equate this story to a work of Poe's. The only similarity is the drugged narration.

The story just doesn't seem plausible. Dikey Dikes and missing parents; oh dear.

I can see where it would get quite a few reads, but I would never read it again and do not consider it worthy of a comment -- without Erin's prompt as to why.

Nobody doesn't like Sarah Lee's, but I can't say the same for Lainie Lee's.

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

A Train Wreck

I started reading this story because the comments piqued my curiosity. I found that I couldn't stop; not because it was a good story, because it isn't. It seems to regurgitate at least half of the cliches and stereotypes I want desperately to banish for all time. I found it was like watching a train wreck. I wanted to stop, but couldn't. I don't think I really believed what I was seeing. I really thought that somewhere it just HAD to get better. It didn't.

Let's get something perfectly clear. I do not crossdress because I am in any way ashamed or humiliated, nor do I seek such feelings. I was never forced into a dress by a domineering female. Perhaps I'm no Arnold Schwartznegger, but I'm not exactly weak and/or helpless. I can take care of myself, thank you very much, and my good friends Smith and Wesson assure me I can take care of threats much larger than myself. I wear lingerie, dresses, makeup, heels, wigs, and jewelry because I LIKE it! I take full responsibility for my crossdressing.

Dressing is not humiliating; it is empowering! To unleash my inner woman is a thrill beyond belief. I feel sorry for those men who feel so intimidated by society that they never experience the joy of silk and satin, the glamor and allure of cosmetics, the marvelous sensation of a skirt gently caressing ones own stockinged legs, the uniquely feminine sensation of a pearl necklace, or the exhiliration of wearing a fine perfume. Nobody ever had to force me.

Sorry, but this story just isn't my cup of "T".

BRAVO ...

Jezzi Stewart's picture

... Tina. I feel exactly the same. Major hugs.

"All the world really is a stage, darlings, so strut your stuff, have fun, and give the public a good show!" Miss Jezzi Belle at the end of each show

BE a lady!

Still true

erin's picture

The only people willing to comment on this story are ones that don't like it. :)

And yet, it got 7000 reads at Classic BC, more than any other story there BEFORE I attached a note pointing this out. It still gets read pretty often, at Classic BC, here and at FM where it was also once the most read story for awhile and had no comments. It's got two comments at FM now.

Lots of people are willing to talk about why they don't like the story but who likes it? And why? :)

- Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Lainie Badgirl

Everyone has certainly nailed the weaknesses in the story. :)

It's always amazed me that this obvious fetish tale with such glaring storytelling lacks should have been so popular. It gets several reads a day even today, years after its original posting--even without being put on the front page of Topshelf.

My first intent was to do a story like Erin's Mercedes with a detailed and excruiating transformation but after I wrote the beginning and outlined the story, I lost interest. It sat there for months. Then a debate broke out on FM that all the recent stories posted were magical with all the hoary chestnuts in that hearth raked over the coals once more.

One argument, that a transformation story had to be magic or sci-fi to be interesting rather annoyed me. I like magic/sf as anyone who has read my stuff knows but that seemed like a challenge.

I dug out Robin and decided to finish it. But I still lacked the real interest in the story to do a thorough "showing" of all the protagonist went through so I simply turned my outline into a "tellling" rather than showing.

I posted it and for awhile it became the most popular story on FM while gathering no comments at all for years. On classic BC it again became the most popular story--with no comments. I think its 'popularity' is due to a handful of fetishists loading and reloading it, perhaps because it hits almost every one of the common fetishistic elements in TG fiction.

It gets comments only when Erin asks for them and most people are vaguely creeped out by it. Including me. :) It's very unlike most of the rest of my stuff because I just couldn't summon the energy to do a real story with these elements.

It evidently communicates to some people though.

The title, I'm not sure whether the title suggested the last lines or the other way around. I think it had the title from the very beginning--I was playing on the idea of Robin Goodfellow, Puck and crossing that idea with Everyman. Robin is every transvestitic fetishist who has ever desired to be transformed without being to blame for it.

Shame without guilt.

Someone mentioned a comparison with horror by Poe. I was actually thinking of Kafka when I wrote it--the celebration, and cerebration, of an inevitable tragedy.

Someone else compared the story to a train wreck. That's almost exactly what it felt like to write it. :)

Love,
Lainie

Somebody Does Love Lainie Lee

I do.

You have a great spirit to take our battering of your story in a way that added to the discussion.

I wrote "Residue" to make the point that forced transformation does have consequences. It is not my kind of story. Several friends told me that they couldn't read it. Some told me that they finished it only because I had written it, but they didn't like it.

I don't think I could be as nice about it as you've been if Erin were to organize a public lynching of "Residue"(I'm sure that wasn't her intent).

You're a sweetheart.

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

Lainie Goodgirl.

Your response has made me most ashamed of my unkind comment about your work Lainie.

I have rarely read a more honest or a more courageous response to adverse criticism. My own response in similar circumstances would have been to skulk unseen and fume at the self rightous vindictiveness of others.

That you didn't, that instead you gave a reasoned critique of the work, and the reasons for it, is an example to us all.

Yours in appreciation,

Fleurie

Fleurie

I like Robin Goodgirl

'Cause it gave me a chance to let it all hang out and bash, which I happily did in a private message.

The consensus seems to be that it was title that made it popular. It makes me want to go back and rename my stories: Jayti Singh could be I Was a Harem Slut. Sappho has possibilities as Lesbians Burned My Balls (and I learned to like it). :)

Aardvark

"Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony."

Mahatma Gandhi

Shirley, Shirley bo Birley

You are on to something -- oh proboscis one.

Take any of my stories and change the name to:

"Strappy Heels Became My Philosophy of Life"
"Sex: and More of the Same"
"I Lust It All"
"I Didn't Have a Choice Because She Was Bigger and I Was More Beautiful Than I Should Have Been"
"$#@* and the World $#&*s With You"

It could attract a few readers, or at least we would get "hit" on.

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

Titles

erin's picture

I don't see that Robin Goodgirl is a title in that style. :)

Some of my stories are, though. "Porno 101", "Miracle Titty-Gro", "Every Lolipop Loves A Licking" and "Ginger-with-a-D" perhaps qualify.

- Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Oh No

Yuppers,
I did open Pandora's box.

So if the Sky is Falling in your neck of the woods please, PLEASE, DON'T hunt me down and shoot me!


Giggle giggle.

 

"We" are not amused!

So, as it is written

So, it Shall Be Done!!
(Yul Bryner)

Konichiwa

Bad Tittles, Bad, Bad Tittles

Cut it out, I'm dyng here.

Lannie Lee, I do like many of your lighter hearted stories, the SRU ones are very sweet and sentimental.Guess I'm a softy at heart.

Ardvark, did you pick that tag so you'd be near the top of the list like Don Adam AKA Dick Yarmy? I LIKE the Sapho renaming but leave it alone, don't tamper with near perfection.

I do some Fan Fic over at The Crystal Hall (Whateley Academy stuff) and I think my stories would really take off on the big web sites with a re-tittling. For that matter the BotC stories I contributed one part to here recently. Erin let see, bot, bottom, bossom, boob. Story Bot C becomes, Whoring Bots with DD's or JJ's for Wholeman. I don't even want to imagine what would hapen to Glacier Girl and Timeout.

Just for the H*ll of it, have a wack at rewriting it into something that you are proud of or is it that painful? We all have our off days.

John in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa

Please Don't Say Wack

Be careful how you word things.

Using the word "wack" within 2,000 words of "Robin Goodgirl" could make you a co-conspirator to a sequel.

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

Re: Careless Word Selection

I have to admit after thinking about it I never could read all the way thru it as it drove me crazy.

Too disturbing, intense, difficult to follow, everything conspired to confuse me. Maybe that's why it had an impact, surely that many readers saw something it it. Didn't they? I guess I must be part lemming. All I could ever do was skim bits of it. Spoke without having done a serious try at a full reading in recent time. Relying on fuzzy memory was a mistake. That wasn't fair to either of you.

Sorry fleurie, what I should have said is, your story I found very upsetting but because of the slow, gentle, gentile forced transformations. The velvet tongued villians are the worst, remember James Mason in North by Northwest(C), that is pure evil wrapped up in civility. Even well written ones I find upsetting, I've seriously tried to read your's and have suceeded somewhat but the subject matter irritates me; I hate seeing people hurt. That was sloppy on my part to equate the two stories. The are both forced fem but that's about it.

The 'trainwreck', ie Robin GG has potential conceptualy but would need a total re-write. The idea was interesting as a writing exercise but proved difficult in execution from Lainie's own words. Something that intense has got to be hard to do, as the slowish progression of D of C has been. Quality takes time, quality in a controversial or provocative area may well take longer to avoid cliche'.

Flurie, I promise I will try to read your work, in sequence and not just skimming, I just hate to see someone toyed with so cruely with out some justice or hope for the victim in the end.

John in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa

Bonana fanna fo Firley

All the missed possibilities!

"DD Donna Was Her Name"
"Amy's New Sink"
"Shannon Used to be a Horse"
"How Peaches Lost Her Fuzz"
"No Balls Andy"
"Firmer, My World"

Aardvark

"Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony."

Mahatma Gandhi

Good news!

Lainie has given me permission to try and save Robin! I've already started on the story, and it will fit very nicely with my plans for Stark's future.

Thank you again, Lainie, so very much!!! *hugs*

Randalynn

RE: Stark and Robin

Good for you,

look forward to it, Lainie is a good sport though I wish she finish Spellbound in the 70's and yes I know her gaming partner is gone.

I hate dangling ...

John in Wauwatosa

P.S. will we ever see a follow up on your Stark Zulo rescue?

John in Wauwatosa

Any luck on saving Robin, Randalynn?

I see Robyn Goodgirl reposted, Lainie's experiment she never could finish.

I remembered you having permission to try and save the boy or story or both. Any luck in making sense of it or on doing a *Stark* on these creepy ladies? I wouldn't mind the ladies traveling back in time and running into Drax and his Chinese physiscans and their *kind ministrations*.

I'm begining to think too much like Stark. Best stay a safe distance from me, Randalynn.

John in Wauwautosa

John in Wauwatosa

Still working on it, John ...

... but the order of Stark's future stories has shifted several times, and Robin's rescue has fallen to the end of the queue, for reasons I can't reveal. Suffice it to say there are big changes in store for Jo, and Robin's fate becomes important to Stark's redemption. *grins* Hope that was cryptic enough!

*hugs tight*

Randalynn

Stark's rescue of Craig ...

... is the beginning of a journey for Stark, so yes, there will be a follow-up. *smiles* One I hope you'll like.

Randalynn

Yes, John ...

... the story, called "Rescuing Robin," is currently half finished. Because Robin's rescue provides the catalyst for major developments in the life of Stark and company, I'm taking my time to get the story right before posting it.

But I'm going to get her out of there, don't worry. *smile*

Randalynn

So is the story finished?

I get that the story has a major impact on the entire future of Stark and Co, so it won't be rushed and published until the proper time and comes but, since it was three years already...

Faraway

On rights of free advertisement:
Big Closet Top Shelf

Where you can fool around like you want to and most you get is some bemused good ribbing!

Faraway


On rights of free advertisement:
Big Closet Top Shelf

Where you can fool around like you want to and most you get is some bemused good ribbing!

Just a little too much...

This is the first time I have read this story, and while the sexual contact and bondage were kept to a minimum, I feel that Dolly and Naomi could have made Robin into a respectible girl, without all of what they forced Robin to do.

Erin, even though I do not like explicit sex and bondage stories, I thought this one was just a little too much, even for a tame story. The reason I write my stories the way I do, is because I feel everyone should have love, acceptance, friendship, and trust with each other. Bondage just isn't something I would get involved in.

Anyway just to say tho, that Dolly and Naomi could have perfected Robin's transformation, without all of what they forced on her.

Barbara Lynn Terry

"If I have to be this girl in me, Then I have the right to be."

"With confidence and forbearance, we will have the strength to move forward."

Love & hugs,
Barbara

"If I have to be this girl in me, Then I have the right to be."